


All Seasons Shall Be Sweet to Thee

by riventhorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-01
Updated: 2006-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“He doesn’t remember,” Draco whispered...“Do you want him to?” Narcissa asked...“No,” Draco said.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer to Summer

**Author's Note:**

> This was written way back in 2005 or 2006--I'm just posting it here so I have all my works in one place on AO3. It's obviously an AU and doesn't take into account Book 7.
> 
> Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended; no profit is being made from this.
> 
> Thanks to carnilia for the beta.

Harry could smell the grass as it turned brown and dead from the heat of the sun. He liked sitting on the back veranda and looking out at the gardens. Narcissa said he spent entirely too much time out of doors, and that his lovely, pale skin would get burned. Harry slathered on sun block and kissed her on the cheek. 

Draco came to the door and announced that dinner was ready. Harry tilted back in his chair, craning his neck to look up at him. “You spent all afternoon in the potions lab, didn’t you?” he asked, noting the stains on Draco’s fingers and the smell of smoke. “You work too hard.”

Draco scowled and limped inside, leaning heavily on his cane. Harry watched him for a moment, then got up and followed. He caught Draco in the hall and slipped his arms around his waist. “Don’t be mad,” he whispered. 

Draco held himself stiffly for a moment, and then relaxed in Harry’s arms. “I was working on a new sleeping potion for you,” Draco said. “To take away the nightmares.”

Harry shuddered and clutched Draco more tightly. “I don’t like taking potions,” he complained. “They give me a headache.”

Draco ran his hand through tangled black hair. “I know.”

“It’s best when you’re there holding me,” Harry murmured. 

After dinner, Draco played the piano. Harry asked Narcissa to dance, and they whirled slowly around the room. Draco’s reflection watched them from the windows. After awhile, Isolde started crying, and Narcissa went upstairs to check on her. Harry crept up behind Draco and started kissing him on the neck and nibbling his ear. Draco laughed, and Harry thought it was more beautiful than the music. 

They had cake for breakfast the next day because it was Harry’s birthday. Isolde had helped decorate it, and so the result was a mess of pink and green squiggles. Harry told her he loved it. “Did you make a wish?” Draco asked, after Harry blew out the candles. 

Harry nodded, licking frosting off his fork.

“Tell me.” 

“I can’t tell, or it won’t come true.”

Nightfall was long in coming, and Draco’s skin was pale in the grey twilight. Harry loved hearing Draco moan his name and twist his hands in Harry’s sweaty hair. Draco was always self-conscious about his scarred leg, but Harry told him how beautiful he was, in between kisses.

v.v.v.v.v. 

Red leaves clogged the gutters, sodden from the rain. Harry stared at them from the window in their bedroom. It was foggy outside, and Harry didn’t like the fog. He latched the windows, closed the curtains tightly, and locked the door. He sat in the chair, his nails biting into his palms. The crack under the door was a weak spot. Harry could almost see the coldness creeping under it. He stuffed old Daily Prophets into it until the space was gone. But there might be cracks in the walls, minuscule cracks that Harry couldn’t see, but the fog could find. He wished he had his wand. Where was his wand? It should be here somewhere...

There was a knock on the door, and Harry cringed in terror before he remembered that the fog wouldn’t knock. “Harry, let me in,” Draco ordered. 

Harry didn’t reply. He still hadn’t found his wand and was currently absorbed in ripping the mattress apart. 

There was a sudden flash of light, and the door banged open. Draco stood looking down at him. “Dammit, Harry, that’s the fifth mattress this month.” 

Harry looked up from where he was sitting in a pile of feathers. “I can’t find my wand,” he explained. 

Draco knelt down beside him. He plucked some feathers out of Harry’s hair and kissed him. “Your wand was destroyed, Harry. Remember?” 

Harry frowned, as the memory tried to come back. Tears slid down his cheeks. “Can’t” he whispered. 

Draco nodded and stood up to open the curtains, flooding the room with sunlight. “Look, the fog has cleared up. I’m sure Isolde would love to go for a walk.”

Isolde picked asters while Harry watched her. She had inherited her mother’s looks—brown hair and eyes. Harry sat down next to her. “Your mother’s name was Pansy,” he said. “Like the flower.” Isolde waved an aster at his nose and giggled. “She’s dead,” Harry went on. “So is my mother. She was named after a flower, too, but I don’t remember which one.” Isolde held out her arms, and Harry picked her up, settling her on his chest as he lay back in the grass. The clouds were big and fluffy. “I can see a cat in that one,” Harry told Isolde. For some reason this made him think of books and ink and brown eyes that were a few shades lighter than Isolde’s. 

Both of them fell asleep a short time later. Harry dreamed of flying through the sky, chasing a golden ball with wings. It was very important that he catch it, but he was distracted by a pair of grey eyes watching him. 

v.v.v.v.v.

Winter brought a bitter cold that seemed to lie about the house and spring on Harry when he was unprepared. He spent most of the time curled up in front of the fire with a good supply of hot chocolate. “What are you doing, Harry?” Draco asked, wandering into the room. 

“Thinking,” Harry replied.

“Professor Snape is turning in his grave,” Draco murmured.

“Who?” Harry asked, curious.

“No one you would know,” Draco told him.

Harry took Isolde sledding in the fresh snow. She squealed with excitement as they sped down the hill. They ended up in a heap at the bottom, both laughing. Harry showed her how to make snow angels. The sky was a brilliant blue above them, and Harry thought of chocolate frog cards and lumpy maroon sweaters. He saw Draco watching from a window and waved. 

Nightfall brought another storm. The fire had burned down to glowing coals while the wind howled outside. Draco clutched Harry tightly, and Harry licked the salty trails from Draco’s cheeks. 

v.v.v.v.v.

Lacy green leaves covered the branches of the tree above them. Harry lay with his head in Draco’s lap. Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, and Harry looked up at him. “I love you,” Harry said. Draco smiled. A dog barked over the hill, the sound carrying in the still air. Closing his eyes, Harry saw mirrors and black fur and dead rats. 

Harry lifted Isolde in his arms to see the bird’s nest and the two eggs nestled inside. “Be careful,” Draco warned, looking up from reading the newspaper. His leg was propped up on a stool. 

Harry kissed Isolde’s brown curls. “We’re always careful, aren’t we?” 

Draco’s sleeves were rolled up, and Harry stared for awhile at the black tattoo that crept around his left forearm. 

Harry held Draco locked in his arms that night. He could feel Draco’s heart pounding next to his own. It was a steady rhythm that lulled Harry to sleep.

v.v.v.v.v.

Sunlight filled Diagon Alley, glinting off the glass storefronts. Isolde raced in front of them, peering into shop windows and laughing. It was hot, and Draco wiped the sweat off his face. He reminded Harry to keep his cloak on and the hood up. Harry nodded. Draco and Isolde stepped into a store, but Harry paused on the threshold. A man and woman were standing across the street, looking at the display in the windows of Flourish and Blotts. The man had red hair. Harry stared at them and remembered playing chess and studying books of spells in the evenings. “You coming?” Draco called from inside. 

Harry blinked and turned, entering the cool darkness. “Yes.”


	2. The Fall of the Year

Narcissa brushed the dead leaves off the tombstones. The golden autumn light softened the hard face of the granite angel carved on Pansy’s headstone. Lucius’s was already in shadow. Kneeling, she traced the letters of his name. Every day brought her closer to the time when she would be with him again. But not yet. She wouldn’t leave Draco or Isolde. 

Draco was hurting, she knew. He didn’t talk about it, but she saw it in his painful movements as he limped across a room, the stillness of his face. She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him close, whisper that everything would be all right. But he wouldn’t accept such gestures from her, she knew that. The time when she could cradle and embrace him had been left behind a long time ago.

So she lavished her attention on Isolde instead. Kissed and hugged her granddaughter. Gave her presents and sweets. Draco always frowned when she did that. “You’ll spoil her, mother,” he would say. But she would just kiss Isolde’s nose, and Isolde would giggle, and a half-hearted smile would tug at Draco’s lips. 

She wanted him to be happy again. That was what every mother wanted for her child—their happiness. Isolde, of course, filled Draco with a deep love and pride, but he needed more. Pansy had made him happy for a few brief moments, but Narcissa had known it wouldn’t last. Pansy had been too fickle, too caught up in her own pleasures. It had almost destroyed Draco when he learned that. Draco needed devotion, needed someone who would be there forever. Like her Lucius. Tears fell then, landing softly on the fallen leaves.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The boy was dying when Draco brought him home. They were both shivering from the cold, but the boy’s lips were tinged with blue, his heartbeat slow and fluttering under her fingers. Narcissa took in the black hair, the glasses, the scar. She looked up at Draco. Draco didn’t say anything, but his eyes pleaded with her. 

Narcissa told Draco to bring the boy, and they walked down the stairs into her potions lab. It was difficult to heat effectively, and frost glittered on the walls in the light of the torches. Draco laid the boy on the stone table.

She lighted the fire under her cauldron, then chopped and peeled ingredients while the water heated. Steam rose into the air. Draco stepped a little closer to the warmth, but he kept one hand on the boy’s arm. “He doesn’t remember,” Draco whispered.

“Do you want him to?” Narcissa asked, stirring slowly. 

“No,” Draco said. 

“What will his name be?”

Draco looked at the boy. “Harry,” he answered softly. “What else could I call him?”

Draco held Harry’s head while Narcissa forced the potion down his throat. He choked and gasped, but color began to seep back into his features. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at them, confusion evident on his face.

“It’s okay,” Draco murmured. “You’re safe.”

Narcissa smiled gently at Harry, and smoothed his hair, like she had done for Draco when he was little.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

When spring came, Narcissa always filled her rooms with bowls and vases of lilacs. Isolde helped her cut the delicate purple blossoms and place them in a basket, biting her lip in concentration.

Narcissa brought some to Harry. He was sitting up in bed, clutching the blankets to him. 

“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked.

“He had to go to town on some business, but he’ll be back this evening.” She sat next to Harry on the bed. “Are you feeling ill, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “No, but I’m tired.” His voice faded to a whisper. “I’m afraid to sleep when Draco is gone. I have bad dreams when he isn’t here.”

Narcissa laid her cool palm on Harry’s forehead. “You don’t have to be frightened.” She began to sing a lullaby that she used to sing to Draco. Harry’s eyes slowly closed, and he slid down onto the pillows. Narcissa kept murmuring the gentle words, blending them with the sweet smell of lilacs.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Narcissa danced with Harry while Draco played a slow, meandering song on the piano. She and Lucius had danced to this song on their honeymoon. For a minute, Harry’s hands became Lucius’s, and she could almost smell that particular cologne he had favored. 

She watched as Harry’s eyes continually sought out Draco. And she saw Draco looking at them in the windows. She recognized the small smile that graced both of their features at the same moment.

Isolde began crying, and she left to go upstairs and check on her. A bad dream—quickly soothed and forgotten. Isolde’s nightmares had not engraved themselves on her soul like Harry’s had. 

“Will Harry like the cake that we made for him?” Isolde asked her anxiously. 

Narcissa assured her that he would. 

“Can’t we give it to him now?”

“No, we have to wait until tomorrow,” Narcissa told her. “You wouldn’t want to get your birthday cake on the wrong day, would you?”

Isolde admitted that she wouldn’t, but that she liked other kinds of cake just as well on non-birthdays. Narcissa laughed and hugged her. A moth fluttered in, attracted by the candle. Narcissa caught it, releasing it back into the warm summer night.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

The leaves were clustered thickly on the graves again. Narcissa was brushing them off when she heard a step behind her. Harry was standing there. “Do these all belong to your family?” he asked, pointing to the tombstones clustered thickly within the iron railings. 

“My husband and Draco’s family,” she replied. “The Malfoys.”

Harry bit his lip. “But will you be buried here too, when you die?”

“Yes.” Narcissa brushed her fingers against Lucius’s headstone.

“Can I – ” Harry hesitated. “Can I be buried here as well? When it’s time?”

Narcissa smiled. “You would be welcome.”

A smile broke out on Harry’s face which broadened when he saw Draco coming down the hill. He hurried to meet him, kissing him and hugging him tightly. Narcissa felt the sorrow in her own heart ease when she saw the happiness on her son’s face. 

“It will not be so long now,” she whispered to Lucius.


	3. Winter's Here to Stay

Draco opened his eyes when the earth stopped shaking and saw red blood on the white snow. Crawling out from the ditch he was hiding in, Draco slowly approached the two bodies. The remains of the Dark Lord were barely recognizable, but Potter looked strangely untouched, except for the unnatural pallor of his skin. His wand lay next to him in the mud, broken and charred. 

Colossal bad timing had brought Draco there—delivering a message to the Dark Lord on Macnair’s orders. He arrived to find the final battle in full swing and dove into a ditch, pressing his face into the mud. 

“Dead yet, Potter?” he murmured, kneeling down. He pressed his fingers to Potter’s neck. There was a pulse, although it was weak and erratic. Green eyes fluttered open and focused on him. 

“Who are you?” Potter whispered, and then slipped back into unconsciousness. 

A black crow flew into a nearby thicket, his caws harsh in the still air. Draco felt a smile creep across his face. He gathered Potter in his arms, stumbling a little on his bad leg. They disappeared, leaving the snow and blood behind.

“Who is the strange man, daddy?” Isolde asked him in a whisper. 

Draco picked her up in his arms, kissing her soft curls. “His name is…Harry,” Draco told her. Harry. He would have to get used to saying that. 

“Why is he sleeping in your bed like mommy used to?”

“Remember how I loved mommy?” Isolde nodded. “Well since she’s gone, this is who I love now.”

“Oh.” Isolde thought for a moment. “Will Harry love me?”

“How could he not?” Isolde smiled happily, and Draco lit the candles. Night came so early in the winter.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco stood quietly in the doorway. Harry was sitting up in bed, and Isolde was proudly showing Harry a drawing she had done. A warm spring breeze blew through the open window and ruffled Isolde’s curls into her face. Harry tentatively reached out and brushed them back. Isolde giggled. 

“How are you feeling, love?” Draco asked, stepping into the room. Harry started, a blush transfusing his pale cheeks. 

“Better,” he mumbled. 

Draco sent Isolde off to play and sat down next to Harry. Reaching out, he tilted Harry’s face toward his and captured his lips in a kiss. At first, Harry didn’t respond, but then his lips melted against Draco’s, and he rested his hand on the back of Draco’s neck. After a few seconds, Draco gently broke away.

“Sorry,” Draco murmured. “I know you’re still not feeling too well. It’s just hard to wait—I keep thinking of how it was before your accident, and I get a little…impatient.”

“That’s all right,” Harry said and slowly reached out to take Draco’s hand. 

v.v.v.v.v.v.

“She’s so beautiful,” Harry whispered. He gently brushed Isolde’s cheek with his fingers. Harry had felt well enough to go outside today, and they had celebrated by having a picnic. Isolde had been tremendously excited and had only just fallen asleep in the warm summer twilight. 

Draco remembered when Pansy told him about the pregnancy. He had told her he would kill her if she so much as looked at a bottle of Firewhiskey. Pansy obeyed him until after Isolde was born, and then got herself killed in a car accident. Draco thought of the cold Muggle morgue and the dispassionate voice of the Muggle healer, explaining how both Pansy and the young Muggle driver of the car had been intoxicated. Draco was sure Pansy had been fucking the Muggle on the side.

“Harry, you should come indoors,” Narcissa said, hurrying across the lawn. She was carrying a lantern, and moths fluttered against the glass. “You’ve only just gotten up for the first time today.”

“Okay,” Harry replied, smiling. “It’s been a lovely day, though.” He gathered Isolde up in his arms, and they walked back to the Manor. Draco’s leg pained him after sitting for so long on the ground, and he limped along by Harry’s side. 

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry screamed for three nights straight when Halloween came. Draco was there with potions and soothing words. The wind rattled the bare branches of the tree against the window, and the moon rode low in the sky. 

He listened to Harry cry out the names of his godfather, and his parents, and his friends. Draco knew that some part of Harry remembered. He went and got his wand, aiming it at Harry’s head. The silent minutes crawled by, and then he threw the wand across the room. Harry’s gaze was blank and trusting in the morning. 

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry rushed out with Isolde when the first snow fell, as excited as she was. The snowflakes collected in Harry’s dark lashes, and he blinked them away, laughing. Draco made sure there was hot cocoa for them when they came back inside, breathless and chilled. 

Before going to bed that night, Draco put on his robe and stepped out onto the balcony. The snow burned his bare feet with an icy fire. The stars glittered with a fire of their own in the skies above him. 

Harry stepped outside and stood next to him. “I want you,” Harry whispered.

Draco allowed himself to be drawn back inside. Chilled fingers fumbled against each other, and the feel of Harry’s skin under his hands was like an old memory.


	4. Songs of Spring

Isolde was impatient. She wanted to talk to Harry, but Daddy wouldn’t let her. She knew that Harry was sick and needed to rest. Daddy had explained to her about Harry’s accident, and Isolde had promised to be quiet and not pester Harry, but Daddy still wouldn’t let her see him. 

She had spent all morning out in the garden, looking for flowers because it was the first day of spring. Grandmother Narcissa said that the weather wasn’t warm enough yet for flowers, but Isolde looked anyway. She didn’t find any flowers, but she did find a pretty white stone that glittered in the sun. She made up her mind that she would take it to Harry because such a pretty stone would make anyone feel better. 

Carefully making sure that neither Grandmother nor Daddy was nearby, Isolde crept up the stairs and along the hallway to Harry and Daddy’s room. Holding her breath, she pushed open the door. 

Harry was lying in bed, staring out the window. He sat up quickly when he saw her, and Isolde almost ran back down the hall. Daddy had told her that Harry would love her, but suddenly she wasn’t as sure as she had been before. But then she saw that Harry was just as nervous as she was.

“I’m Isolde,” she told him, crossing the room and holding out her hand. Harry took it and shook it solemnly. “This is for you.” She held out the white stone.

Harry took it slowly, his fingers caressing the smooth surface. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

“It’s prettiest in the sun,” Isolde explained, and took the stone back, placing it in a patch of sunlight on the windowsill where it sparkled. Isolde gave Harry her best smile, and Harry smiled back. 

Isolde jumped up on the bed next to him and flung her arms around him. “We’re going to be friends,” she told him. 

Harry froze for a second, but then he returned the hug. And when Daddy appeared in the doorway, looking very angry, Harry pretended that he didn’t know Isolde was hiding under the bed, even though they had been talking loudly moments before. Daddy was silent for a few moments, but then he laughed a little, and Isolde knew it was safe to come out.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Picnics were the best thing in the entire world. It was so fun to be eating outside on the ground. Plus, no one seemed to care how many glasses of lemonade or how many slices of watermelon she had. Normally, Daddy would tell her she was being greedy, but he was too busy watching Harry to notice. 

Harry showed her how to spit watermelon seeds so that they went soaring through the air and landed with a plop in the lake. Then they went wading in the cool shallows. Isolde almost caught a tiny fish, but it was too quick and slipped through her fingers. She accidentally splashed some water on Harry, and he accidentally splashed some water on her, and then suddenly they were both shouting and splashing each other. 

Isolde was satisfyingly muddy and wet when they emerged. Grandmother fussed over her, casting drying spells with her wand. Harry, though, went and sat next to Daddy, who just put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, even though Harry was wet, too. When Grandmother let her go, she clambered into Daddy’s lap, and he put his other arm around her.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

One night, she woke up to the sound of Harry screaming. Trembling, she crept out of bed and down the hall until she was in front of their door. She wanted to run inside and give Harry a hug to make him feel better, but she could hear Daddy talking to Harry in a low, soothing voice. Harry was crying, but gradually he stopped. Finally everything was quiet again, and Isolde went back to bed.

The next day, Harry took her for a walk out in the meadows, and they picked purple flowers. Harry told her how her mother’s name had been Pansy. She had seen a picture of her mother once. The woman in the painting had brown hair and eyes, too, but Isolde didn’t remember her. For a moment, she felt sad, but then Harry picked her up and lay back in the warm grass, and Isolde was glad that Harry was here instead. 

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Isolde didn’t want Christmas to end. After the delicious pudding and pulling the Christmas crackers, she decided that she wouldn’t go to bed at all. Daddy accepted this declaration calmly when she told him, and Isolde began playing happily with her new doll. But then the couch started looking very soft and comfortable, and her eyes wouldn’t stay open. The next thing she knew, Harry was picking her up. Still half-asleep, Isolde wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“For a minute,” Harry was saying softly to Daddy, “when I was opening your present, I was sure it was going to be a sweater. Hand-knitted and green.”

Daddy was silent and suddenly Isolde knew that something was horribly wrong. She whimpered a little and tightened her hold on Harry. Harry ran his hand gently through her curls.

“But I like what you gave me better,” Harry added, and Isolde felt him lean over and give Daddy a kiss. 

v.v.v.v.v.v.

For a long time after Christmas, Isolde felt uneasy and afraid. She noticed that sometimes when Daddy was with Harry it was like he was trying to memorize what Harry looked like, what he felt like. She began to fear that Harry was going to leave them. 

Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. One afternoon, when Harry was sitting out on the porch, she crept up to him and rested her hand on his arm. 

“Harry,” she began, but then stopped. 

Harry smiled at her. It was their smile—the one they reserved for jumping in mud puddles, building snowmen, and eating cookies. Isolde tried to smile back, but a tear slipped down her cheek instead.

“What is it?” Harry asked, lifting her up into his lap. 

“Are you going to leave, Harry?”

Harry hugged her close. “I’d never leave you.”

Some of Isolde’s fear left her, but she persisted. “Would you leave Daddy? He’s afraid that you will.”

“I won’t leave Draco, either.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Isolde smiled and hugged him back. Together they watched the first butterfly of spring dance across the garden and disappear up into the blue sky, sprinkled with white clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the poem "Frost at Midnight" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
> 
> “Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,  
> Whether the summer clothe the general earth  
> With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing  
> Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch   
> Of mossy apple tree, while the night thatch  
> Smokes in the sunthaw; whether the eve-drops fall  
> Heard only in the trances of the blast,  
> Or if the secret ministry of frost  
> Shall hang them up in silent icicles,  
> Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.”


End file.
